A Weekend Away
by eTara
Summary: Owen and Cristina, set during Cristina's 3rd year of residency. Cristina and Owen fight to move forward as Meredith and Derek prepare for their wedding.
1. Chapter 1: S'Tina

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

There was a little person in the room. He wasn't making any noise, but even in her early morning grogginess she could feel his eyes on her. Slowly, so as not to attract attention, she slid her arm slowly under the covers to the other side of the bed, searching. No Owen.

The little person, sensing motion, pounced.

"S'Tina—S'Tina, you're the tickle monster!"

Aidan was small for nearly being three years old. A very petite boy with that familiar goofy red hair, cobalt blue eyes and a strange aversion to defecating in the toilet (the last trait being one that, luckily, he did not share with his uncle). There were three of them in this house, three mini gingers, but the others were toilet trained and generally left her alone, preferring Uncle Owen to the woman who'd spent most of dinner last night watching them nervously, as if they might throw food at any moment. Aidan, though, didn't have any reservations about getting to know "S'Tina".

Aidan stood on the bed, his petite little frame wobbling as he negotiated himself up her body toward her head.

"Tickle me!" he squealed, kicking her in the ribs. He didn't have enough control over his little legs to hurt her. She felt herself smiling, burying her face further into the pillow before breathing in the beginning of a sigh and, still on her stomach, reached an arm behind her to grab a handful of belly. Aidan exploded into laughter and collapsed across her hips.

"Ssh," Cristina said softly, snaking an arm around his body and pulling him up, next to her. "It's sleepy time."

Aidan let himself be pulled against her, into the space between her arm and her body. It should have been an awkward pose, her lying on her stomach, her arm out and curled backwards around his little body as he nestled against her. But it was not uncomfortable, and she was suddenly hit with a memory. Of being little, not as little as Aidan, but of being a little girl nestled against her father in the middle of the night. Emotion welled up inside her, and she blinked back tears. She turned her head toward Aidan, to remind herself she was in the present. She looked down, expecting to see the top of a heedful of copper locks. Instead she found herself looking into a sea of blue. Aidan smiled mischievously.

"TICKLE ME, S'TINA!" he shouted, directly into her face, scrambling to his legs again. Cristina rolled her head back, pressed her face into the pillow. It was too early for anyone to be out of bed. So where the hell was Owen?

To stop the noise she reached up blindly toward him, grabbed a handful of toddler belly and squeezed, then pushed. As expected, he fell over in a fit of giggles. Cristina closed her eyes, willing the game to be over. Having different ideas, he repositioned himself to a standing position and stepped closer to her, still giggling. Another kick to the ribs, and this time she thought absentmindedly that she should say something, tell him 'no', because the last thing Owen's sister wanted was Cristina teaching her son there are no consequences when he kicks people. But she's heard this little volcano's reaction to being told 'no', and she wasn't about to be on the receiving end. At least not this early in the morning. "Again, S'Tina, again!" he barked happily.

She reached up again, turning her head away from him and trying to relax. She could do this. She could tickle and rest. And wherever the hell Owen was, maybe he'd come back with coffee and she wouldn't have to resent him for the rest of the morning. He should be the one stuck in the tickling game with the little terror.

Aidan exploded into another fit of giggles as Cristina found his belly again, squeezing him before giving him another shove down onto the soft down bedding. He landed on his back, half on her legs and half in the billowy down comforter, but was up again in seconds, swaying from side to side as he moved up the bed, unsteady on the cushioned surface. She winced when one little foot landed on her lower back and he actually made an effort to walk on her, which hurt much worse than the ineffectual little kicks. She went for a belly grab, pushed him down, and his laughter filled the room like music.

This time when he came back it was on his hands and knees. He scampered up and put a hand next to her cheek. He opened and closed his fist, stretching his fingers out and poking her face before closing the fist again. "I tickle you, S'Tina." She wanted to laugh at the attempt to tickle her, but she bit her tongue so as not to encourage him. His fingers were oddly sticky, which worried her. Most likely she was going to break out. Who knows when the last time he washed his hands was?

"No tickling faces," she protested, moving his hand away. To soften the blow to his little man ego she rolled over and reached for him, pulling him against her chest as she dug the tips of her fingers into his armpits. The laughing was immediate and was soon joined by a lower rumble, coming from the doorway. Cristina looked up to find Owen standing in the open door, holding two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag.

Their eyes met over the top of Aidan's head and Cristina's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He looked relaxed, and refreshed, and so strikingly handsome she almost couldn't believe her luck. He was like a different man in this little house by the lake, around the kids and the dog and his sister. In the last year he'd progressed remarkably, less tenseness, less sleepless nights, less panic. He was already like a new man back home in Seattle, and more and more she would look across the room and see the confident, brazen man he was before. But here there was something else. A playfulness that normally she only saw when they were alone, which was not much. She was a third year resident now, was at the hospital even longer hours (who would have thought that was possible?).

"Uncl'owen!" Aidan squealed, rocketing off her toward the edge of the bed where he stood, arms out, waiting for his hug. Owen set the cups of coffee and the bag on the nightstand as Cristina collapsed back into the pillows, her eyes never leaving him.

Owen scooped Aidan into his arms and hoisted him into the air. "Your mommy and I just got back from the store. She has donuts in the kitchen."

Cristina knew immediately that this would work, this tiny little creature was a whore for food and would eat constantly if everything in the kitchen wasn't above what he could get to by standing on the little white chair that went with his art table. Owen set him on the floor and he went running, bare feet slapping against the hard wood. Owen closed and locked the door, and something intense—almost animal—entered his eyes. She knew the look, and she felt her body respond immediately.

"What?" she asked. It wasn't so much a _What do you want?_ Because that was clear. It was a _Why now, before I've had my coffee?_ She threw a wistful glance toward the nightstand, but the bed was so high and the nightstand so short that the cardboard cup was out of sight.

Owen pulled back the covers, revealing her flannel pajamas, and crawled up onto the bed. Her snaked an arm under her back and pulled her up, his mouth finding hers as his free hand did battle with her pajama bottoms. As she was very nearly in a seated position, the pants weren't going anywhere. Cristina inhaled shakily when he leaned her back down and curled two fingers from each hand into the waistband of her pants. Heat flushed her body where his skin touched hers, his fingers cold against each side of her hips. Never breaking eye contact, he tugged on the waistband. She lifted he hips slightly off the bed, toward him, to allow the pants to come off.

The shock of cold air against her bare legs was an unexpected delight; especially considering every other part of her body was heating up solely under the power of his gaze. The man was hot. Insanely hot. A roiling boil sort of hot that made other men's hotness look like bathwater. With other men, one was safe to jump in without risk of horrible burns. How was she ever going to feel this way with another man? The Mark Sloans of the world would have to do a whole lot more than stitch up their own faces to turn her on again. She would have to keep Owen around forever, even if it meant buying a house and locking him in the basement.

"What are you smirking at?" Owen asked huskily, tossing her pajama bottoms off the bed and sliding his hands up her calves, lingering on the backs of her knees before moving up her thighs. "You look like a cat with a mouse." He eased her legs apart and watched as she trembled in response to his touch.

He used a finger to push her panties to the side, was lowering his head when the door handle shook. Finding it locked, the intruder pounded a fist on the door. "S'Tina, read books. Come OUT!" Pound, pound, pound.

Owen looked up at her from between her legs, a smirk on his lips. "I think there's a three year old trying to steal my girlfriend."

"He's two and three-quarters. A little over sixteen years and we can be married. It's perfect timing, I should be done with training by then," she said, dryly.

"Aidan!" Owen's sister called from somewhere in the house. "Come on, bug, we're going to the lake."

She'd give him one thing, the kid was easily diverted. "Bye, S'Tina, we're going to the lake!" Pound, pound, pound. "S'Tina, say 'bye'! Say 'bye', S'Tina!"

"Bye, Aidan," Cristina called as Owen pushed her flannel button-down top up, exposing a pale, bare midriff. She frowned unhappily, his hand no longer near her panties, his mouth laying gentle kisses across the flat exposed surface.

"I'm pretty pleased with my catch, yes. But what's this all about?" She had meant to sound blasé, but the way her breath was now coming in shallow, ragged gasps she sounded less the composed, cool surgeon and more the sex-crazed nymph.

"I think it's best not to tell you," he said to her belly, nuzzling the skin with his nose before sliding his tongue along the bottom of her ribcage.

Cristina let her head fall back on the bed, her mouth falling open as she felt the familiar ache growing. The need for him inside her nearly won out over her curiosity. "Talk or no nookie."

Owen shook his head, slid his hand down her side and caught hold of her panties. She lifted her hips again, allowing him to pull and then push the lace down her legs. He gave a small laugh, a self-satisfied chuckle that would have irritated her any other time. He could be such a smug bastard.

He sat up and, in a matter of seconds had unbuttoned and pushed down his jeans and had positioned himself between her legs. He moved on top of her, lining up their faces, and kissed her. The sweet earnestness of the kiss nearly took her breath away. "You have to tell me," she whispered when they pulled apart.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, then, relenting, said, "I need to go through the motions." He opened his eyes to find her gaze confused. "Seeing you with Aidan, you fight it but you are so adorable with him. And I know it's completely by accident and it's unintentional, and maybe it's kid-specific, but I can't help but fantasize about getting you pregnant," he took a breath and she immediately stiffened. She didn't know how to respond, of sexual fantasies it was pretty tame and non-perverse but she still felt rather shocked and ill at ease with his admission.

He continued on in a rush to get it out, to calm her down, "And I know you're on the pill, and I know we're both too busy right now, I know. And I know I'm still not in a good place, I know I'm the last person that should be thinking about getting someone pregnant. And I don't even know if I want kids, and I think maybe you don't. Maybe you never will. But I just need to go through the motions. I just need to make love to you."

His eyes found hers and he brought a hand up to cradle her face, slid a thumb along her mouth, still slightly open from the surprise. "And I promise to pretend I never said any of this when we're done." He smiled sheepishly, and against her better judgment she found herself smiling, too.

She felt like it was okay to have this fantasy here, in this house by the lake away from the city and their lives. A place almost out of space, out of time. A place like the vent, where they could go to clear their heads. But she knew he was aware they couldn't stay in these places. They could no more stand over the vent all day than they could move into this house and be different people for anything other than a vacation.

So when they did make love she let herself feel the small thrill that had worked it's way into her heart. The thought of being pregnant with his child. Because it was only a fantasy, and it belong in this place, in this little house, and when they were done they could leave it behind.


	2. Chapter 2: The Seed

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Disclaimer:

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

_Author's note: I'm still trying to find a rhythm with this story, so thanks to all of you who are sticking it out. Luckily they'll be back at the hospital soon, for some ensemble interations._

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"I thought you said it was a romantic weekend getaway?" Meredith sounded perturbed. "What kind of boy thinks a romantic weekend getaway involves his sister and her three kids? I can picture Derek doing something like this to me, because we're getting married. But Owen's got some huge balls to do it to you."

Cristina smiled. Of course Meredith would understand. There was a reason she was her person. Your person always understands when your weekend getaway turns into a romp through the eighth circle of hell. "They weren't supposed to be here," Cristina said, sighing and looking back toward the house for the hundredth time, making sure she was alone. "They weren't supposed to be using the house but his sister forgot she told Owen he could use it this weekend. So we got here last night and they were already here. Everyone except her husband, who is away on business."

"Isn't there a hotel in the area? A bed and breakfast or something?"

Cristina felt herself clutching the phone tighter. "Yes. Yes, there is. And Owen looked at me and said, 'do you want to go somewhere else?' in that way that let me know exactly what the right answer is, and 'yes, anywhere but here, please' is _not_ the right answer."

"Ouch."

"And now he's talking about babies," Cristina hissed.

"Babies?"

Cristina sighed. "More like pregnancy. He's fantasizing about getting me pregnant." She paused. She'd been okay with it at first, when her senses were overloaded with him. But now…now, she was not okay. "It's creepy. Who does that?"

Meredith sounded forlorn. "He spooked the horse. That's too bad, he was doing so well…taking baby-steps-- no pun intended. Then you leave Seattle for a weekend. He might as well give you a ring and ask you to marry him while he's at it. Get it all out in the open."

"Did you just call me a horse?"

"So my analogy needs a little work, but you do sound pretty freaked out."

"I am freaked out, Mere. Wouldn't you be freaked out?"

"Depends. Is he thinking about babies, or does he just want you pregnant?"

"Is one _better_ than the other?"

"One is kind of weirder than the other. Maybe it's just a sex fantasy, like sometimes Derek li—"

"Stop. No. No Derek sex fantasies. This is a bad enough day. I mean, I had sex with him. He as much as told me he wanted me pregnant, and I still had sex with him. It's like he has this crazy power. Like as long as my pants are off he can say whatever he wants and I'll still have sex with him."

Even through the phone, Cristina could tell Meredith was grinning. "See, normally when a trainer spooks the horse, he doesn't get to go for a ride."

"I hate you," Cristina hissed, snapping the phone closed. Against all odds, she felt a slow smile creeping onto her face, which is something only Meredith could have made happen.

Cristina sighed and started walking back toward the house. She'd made it halfway when Owen stepped outside onto the porch, wiping his hands dry with a dishtowel. He looked so _domestic_. And hot.

"Lunch is almost ready," he called out to her. She nodded, jogging the rest of the way up to the house. He lingered on the porch, waiting for her, a worried expression on his face.

"About earlier--" he started to say.

Cristina held up a hand. "It's okay. Also, we're not talking about it. You promised."

Owen's face fell, a split second of disappointment before he recovered and nodded. "Okay," he said in agreement.

"Are you done on the potty, Aidan? Did you go poop?" Cristina heard Gwen's voice from inside. It was a wonder the boy didn't have a complex. The woman was obsessed with his bowel movements.

"All done, Mama," Aidan's voice, a sweet sing-song, drifted out to them. Cristina smiled and shook her head, took a deep breath, and followed Owen into the house.

"Did you poop or pee?" Gwen asked, eyeing Aidan suspiciously as he pranced into the kitchen in a bath-towel that had been crafted into a cape. It was held in place around his neck by a hair clip.

"Pee!" he said happily, as if the answer would win him a prize.

"Go back in there and poop on the potty."

"I peed!" Aidan said, distressed.

"Aidan, get back in there and go potty."

"I did, I did go potty. I peed on the potty."

"Good boy. Now go poop on the potty," Gwen said, bending over to turn him around and give him a gentle shove toward the restroom. He planted his feet in the ground. "Come on, bug. You haven't pooped yet today."

"I peed! I peed on the potty!" he said again, and the way he kept repeating it had a knot in Cristina's chest. He clearly didn't understand why it wasn't good enough. The constant pressure was making _her_ constipated, and no one was keeping track of her bowel movements.

"Aidan, do you want me to get a diaper for you?"

"No!" he shouted. "No, Mama, I have panties!"

Cristina had to smile at this. He had two sisters who were potty trained, and they wore panties. So when he moved into underwear, there was only one word for the fabric that replaces diapers and pull-ups, and the word was panties. There was no point to suggest otherwise. She knew, because Owen had tried last night to convince Aidan he was wearing "underwear". The effort, though valiant, was doomed for failure. Panties were panties, it seemed.

"Come on, bug. Uncle Owen goes poop on the potty, don't you Uncle Owen?" Gwen said, clearly losing it.

Owen knelt down. "I do. I go poop on the potty. And mommy goes poop on the potty. And Cristina goes poop on the potty."

"Hey!" Cristina said, horrified to be brought into the conversation. Aidan looked up at her, his face impassive before his eyes narrowed. "S'Tina?"

"Yup. Cristina goes poop on the potty," Owen said. He looked back over his shoulder and up at her. "Don't you?"

Cristina scowled, crossed her arms over her chest then, seeing Aidan's face, softened. "Yes," she said grudgingly.

"Come on, let's go sit down. I'll go with you," Owen said, his hand on Aidan's back.

"S'Tina." Aidan said petulantly. "I want S'Tina to read me a book on the potty. I want the train book."

As he ran off toward the room where his books were kept, and Cristina shot Owen a glare while he avoided eye contact and tried his best not to smile. This effort, also valiant, was doomed for failure.

Cristina huffed and moved off to the bathroom, where she took her post sitting on the step-stool next to Aidan's small plastic potty.

Owen marveled at the easy way she took his hand when he reached up for her, and they walked off together. Gwen moved in next to him and they watched them walk together toward the bathroom.

"He's really taken to her," Gwen said, her head cocked to the side as if she was contemplating something. Cristina and Aidan turned a corner and Gwen's eyes swung to Owen. "You look good, Owen. Healthy. And happy."

Owen smiled softly at her and moved back into the kitchen. Gwen followed, reaching for her glass of milk as she watched him peak under the top of the panini grill at how the sandwiches were progressing. "Mom told me you were looking good, but I thought maybe it was wishful thinking, but no—you seem…" she stopped, searching for words. Owen turned away from the applicance and started reaching for glasses and plates. "I think she's finally forgiven you, you know. She's let go of the anger. It's probably easier now, since you're doing better, and she doesn't need the anger to balance her worry."

"Gwen, really. Mom and I are fine. We've been fine. I visit once a week since I told her I came back, and it's been fine," he said, arranging the glasses on the table. He could hear laughter coming from the hall. Ellen and Cora playing some sort of board game.

"Oh, shut up, Owen. It wasn't fine. None of us were fine." There was an edge to her voice, a tremor that accompanied her anger. She was still angry. She hadn't forgiven him. But she'd always been stubborn, always so certain that she knew best.

He stopped what he was doing, turned to look at his sister. She was younger, which was the odd part about her being married with three kids. But then surgical training had a tendency to put entire lives on hold. He might have married Beth years ago if his career hadn't—_hadn't what, saved him_? That was hardly a fair characterization. Beth just belonged to a different man, an earlier version of himself.

Gwen was still going, her voice low and contolled so they wouldn't be overheard. "No one was fine. Not your relatives. Not your friends. No one was fine while we waited for you to come home. While we stupidly believe that you weren't."

He nodded, understanding dawning on him. She had given him a pass. She had pretended to understand. She had stood up for him, explained his mistakes away, defended his mistakes, even. And every moment had been a lie. She hadn't understood, obviously still didn't. But he was broken in a way that she couldn't heal. And so she'd had to wait, biding her time, until he was healed enough. He was releived by the anger, because it meant she believed he was well, or stable, or happy. Believed he could take it, now. And she made him believe, too. He looked into her eyes, trying to get the message to her without words, but she didn't get the message the way Cristina would have, "I'm sorry, Gwen."

"All done!" Aidan came running into the room, breaking the spell. Gwen breathed in, lifting her eyes to the ceiling and blinking rapidly.

**

"I still can't believe it. We sat there for ten minutes reading that book over and over again, and the minute he gets off the potty he ran into his room and pooped in his pants," Cristina shook her head, pulling the comforter up to her chest. "Unbelievable."

"Yeah, he's pretty stubborn. I just don't think he's interested in the toilet. I don't know why Gwen does this to herself. She should just wait until he's ready," he laid down next to her, book in hand, and propped himself up against the pillows. "It's pretty unlike her to be so impatient."

"Well, he obviously knows when he has to go." Cristina wiggled, trying to settle herself into the pillows before she reached for her book. "He runs off to do it in his room every time. How much longer should she wait? No, you have to push kids, sometimes."

Owen looked sideways at her, a small smile playing at his lips, as if he was privy to a secret she hadn't been told. "You have theories on parenting, now?" he asked teasingly.

_Smug bastard_, Cristina thought. She sighed, and opened her book in a huff. "Don't think you planted a seed or anything," she said quietly, not looking at him. "I'm not thinking about what you said earlier."

Owen put his own book down, rolled turned into her put himself between her body and her own book. His body pressed against hers, taking her in with his eyes. No flannel pajamas tonight, she wore a dark green camisole with no bra and a pair of his boxers. "Did you say something about planting a seed?" he asked, his voice husky, as he used his stubbled chin to trace a line from her shoulder to her ear.

She swatted at him playfully. "Oh shut up," she said, but found herself smiling, and when he moved his mouth over hers her own lips opened.

Owen pressed his lips aginst hers, keeping the kiss chaste before pulling away and tucking his face into her nape. "I couldn't take my eyes off of you today."

Owen left a line of kisses from her collarbone to just under her ear where he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said grudgingly, moving away from him and ducking her head, so that their faces lined up and she was looking in his eyes, willing him to kiss her. He obliged, and the first kiss he placed in her lips was soft and light. The second one was less so. But the third one.--the third one was electrifying. Cristina melted back into the pillows as Owen positioned himself over her.

"I'm glad we came here together, even if it wasn't what we planned," he said. And she smiled at this, not sure if she believed that he hadn't planned it. And if he had, then maybe she couldn't blame him. "I'll be sad to leave tomorrow," he smiled. "But luckily I'll get you away from the competition before he steals you away from me."

Cristina found herself smiling at his teasing. She put one hand on each side of his face and pulled him down for another kiss. For hell, it wasn't such a bad place, this little house by the lake.


	3. Chapter 3: Don't Tell

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

* * *

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, startling him. Owen jumped a little, then chastised himself and turned to face her.

"No,' he started, and then paused. She had her hair pulled back, blue eyes rimmed with red. She'd been crying. With the eyes and the red blotches on her cheeks-- she never could hide when she'd been crying.

Owen moved toward her, wrapped his arms around her. "I am sorry, Gwen. I am...sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, or mom. I--I didn't want to make you sad."

"You forgot about us," she said.

Perplexed, Owen stepped back, left his hands on her arms and looked into her face. "Forgot about you? No, I-"

She wasn't having any of it, and stepped away from him. She was up for the day. It was only 5 a.m. but she was already dressed in jeans and an oversized hooded sweatshirt advertising Harvard School of Business, her hair pulled into a severe ponytail. "You forgot who we were. You forgot we were a family. And you forgot that we love you, no matter what. So, what? If you get cancer you'll stop speaking to us? Because you won't want to hurt us?"

"I wasn't thinking straight, I—" he started, but she was full of interruptions.

"Didn't trust us. You didn't trust us to be there for you."

"It's hard to explain, what I was thinking…it's hard to explain. I was trying to protect you. I was convinced I'd—" his voice shook, and he took a second to calm himself. "I was convinced I'd disappoint you, her, everyone. I wasn't the same. And I couldn't be the same."

"No one asked you to be the same. No one expected it."

"Beth expected it."

Gwen scoffed. "You didn't give her a chance. No one got a chance. So what if we didn't understand immediately? We would have."

Owen looked at the ground. He felt guilty. He felt guilty, but he also felt sure. He hadn't done the right thing. But doing the right thing wasn't an option. Not at the time. Not when he came back, when the wounds were so fresh. "I couldn't listen," he said, willing her to understand. "I couldn't hear people tell me about time. I didn't want to hear another person try to tell me that things would get better in time. Because I heard it, Gwen. I heard it on the flights home. I heard it while the Army processed the paperwork. I couldn't hear it anymore."

Gwen sighed, and rolled her eyes, the way she did when she was little, the way she still did when she was annoyed. It had driven their mother crazy, and now it drove her husband crazy. Owen couldn't help but smile. Wanting to change the subject to something less contentious, he said, "We're leaving this morning, Cristina and I. As soon as she wakes up."

Gwen nodded, and sighed again, sniffing and brushing her finger against her nose, as if scratching an itch. She was visibly irritated with his changing the subject, but let it happen. "Speaking of Cristina, is she okay? She seemed—twitchy—yesterday."

Owen nodded, staring down the hall toward the bedroom where Cristina slept. "Yeah, that's my fault."

Gwen smiled, and the look on her face said it all. _Of course it is, you dumb bastard._ Owen's abrupt laugh surprised them both. Gwen reached for his hand and curled her fingers around his. He smiled, and pulled her into his arms.

**

In the car ride back to Seattle they barely spoke. It wasn't an awkward silence, with both of them lost in their own thoughts. A long drive, they stopped once for an early lunch, and Cristina took over the driving after that. Owen, lulled by the hum of the engine, fell asleep beside her and Cristina was left only with her thoughts and the CD player.

They had different tastes in music, and it was one of his CDs, but she didn't put in one of her own. She liked to listen to his music sometimes, and wonder what each song made him think about. What it made him feel. Music was one thing that consistently made her feel things and so she assumed that it did the same for him. He was interested in music and, like his other interests, he spent his time when he wasn't occupied on call, or was waiting for a case to start, by reading about it.

The band that was playing, he had told her (and why she'd retained the information she didn't know), was a group of brothers and a cousin. They'd spent their youth following around their father, a minister, which you would never know by listening to them--all their songs seemingly revolving around the same theme: female troublemakers corrupting good, God-fearing boys. Whether he recognized the premise of most of the band's playlist, she didn't know. But it amused her, regardless.

She was getting antsy, each mile driven a mile closer to Meredith. She needed to see her. To talk to her or, at the very least, be in the same building as her for an hour or two. So she could relax, and calm down, and not think about babies or pregnancies or relationships which naturally follow pre-planned courses that she swears she never planned on. Where she thought she and Owen were going, she couldn't say. But certainly not here.

They'd had such an innocuous start. A stolen kiss in an exam room, and his immediate departure. And then his return. An argument over some pigs. An argument over a beating victim (odd that, to this day, she still remembered his name was Tom). Those first few days he'd been a tyrant. He'd been judgmental, and she'd reacted unexpectedly. Rather than writing him off as a hypercritical horse's ass, she'd been intent on proving him wrong. To prove that she could competently keep four pigs alive while everyone else was called away to traumas on actual patients. Had he been punishing her? And then later, to prove that she wasn't cold, or unfeeling, that it wasn't all about winning contests. Why she'd cared about his opinion of her, so early on, she didn't know. He'd forgotten her name, and when confronted had broken her heart with a story of a sole survivor of an RPG ambush. His story.

Owen groaned next to her, and stretched. After a moment she glanced over to find that he was watching her. His head was resting against the seat, but his face was turned toward her, so that his cheek rested against the leather head rest. "Hey," he said, a smile playing at his lips.

She felt her own mouth turn upwards, ever so slightly, at the corners. "Hey."

"Are we almost there?" Owen asked, not taking his eyes off of her to look around at their now-familiar surroundings.

Cristina nodded, "We're almost there."

**

That night they were both alone. Owen dropped her off and went back to his apartment, stating only that he had some things to take care of. She suspected it had something to do with his mom. So Cristina had been left for the rest of the day with her own thoughts as she waited for Callie to get home.

She'd called Meredith, only to gave a groggy Derek (which was surprising, she'd never picture him as one to nap on his days off) tell her that she was on call. Briefly, Cristina considered tracking her down at the hospital, but thought better of it and instead spent the evening roaming around the apartment, watching television intermittently and eating out of boredom.

By the time she heard Callie's key in the lock she was in her pajamas, feet propped on the table in front of the television with a bag of florescent orange chips on her lap. She'd already let two of Owen's calls go to voicemail. She would see him at work, tomorrow, but tonight…tonight, she needed time to think.

"Hey," Callie said, hanging her purse by the door and perching on the edge of the couch. "How was your weekend?"

Cristina shrugged. "Different. I mean, good, but…different."

Callie nodded moved from the arm of the couch to a cushion, settling in next to Cristina. "You wanna talk about it?"

Cristina shook her head, put a chip in her mouth and said, "Did you ever think about having babies?"

Slightly taken aback, Callie made an effort to close her mouth as soon as it fell open. "Oh, yeah. Wow. Well--I guess."

Cristina stared straight ahead at the TV. "But not really, though. Because of residency, or because it was a baby, whatever, just, not really."

"No." Callie breathed in, thinking about how quickly things change. " No, I did, really. When George and I…when he had the aff—we were trying. To get pregnant. We were trying to get pregnant. So yeah, I thought about it."

Cristina turned to her, trying to search Callie's strength for answers. She didn't even know what the questions were, but surely there were answers somewhere. "And what made you change your mind?"

"I found out, about George and—I found out."

Cristina glanced over at her, her lip clenched between her teeth. "We're surgeons. I'm a surgeon. It just seems like an impossibility."

Callie shook her head. "People do it. All the time, even in residency, people do it. Bailey did it."

Cristina visibly relaxed, being reminded of this. Because...of course. Bailey did it. Not that she would do it. She didn't have just residency to think about. She had cardio-thoracic fellowship to think about. And there was no guarantee she'd be in Seattle. The best programs in the country were not in Seattle and she wanted the best. And Owen lived in Seattle and she couldn't leave with his baby. If they wanted to stay together, a long distance relationship, that was one thing. And maybe later, kids would be an option. Or kid, really. A kid would be an option, later. But not now.

"I'm sorry," Cristina said, and sighed. "I know I must sound like a basket case. I don't want babies, I—"

"I'm moving out," Callie blurted.

Cristina looked at her, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

Callie took a deep breath. "Arizona and I are—going to give it a try. We're moving in together."

Cristina forced a smile onto her face. She was happy, but disappointed. If one could be happily disappointed, that is. "That's great, wonderful. Wow." _Now who would do the grocery shopping? _

Callie nodded, and smiled. A very certain smile. Cristina envied that certainty. "Maybe you and Owen could—" she started to say, but stopped when Cristina stood.

"I'm really happy for you, Callie, I am. But maybe we could not tell Owen you're moving out? Just for awhile, I—just for awhile."

Callie gave her a confused look. "Awhile as in time enough for you to find a new roommate?" Callie asked, but Cristina didn't answer. "Cristina, what's going on with you and Owen?"

Cristina inhaled and held on to the breath for an inordinately long period of time. "I just, need more time."

She turned off the television and put a hand on Callie's shoulder. "I'm really happy for you, Cal."

Callie nodded, and watched her disappear into her bedroom.

Cristina shut the door to her bedroom but past the bed toward her bathroom. She glanced at the glass shower enclosure before moving past it toward the sink, where she pulled out her birth control pills. This was the last pill before she would throw away the pack; she never took the placebos, actually found them insulting. As if women couldn't keep track of seven days before starting a new package of pills. She filled a paper cup with water and swallowed the pill down, then pulled the foil wrap out of the plastic case and tossed the seven placebos into the trash. She would start the new pack next Sunday.

And then it hit her. She had just taken the last "active" pill in the package. But today was Sunday. She should have finished the pack yesterday. She backed away from the counter, her mind racing. She had taken a pill just before climbing into bed last night, had done the same thing Friday. She was consistent about taking the pills, so when had she missed one? It could have been anytime in the last three weeks. She never used the stickers for labeling the days of the week, she was a Sunday starter, she never forgot. So how on earth did she miss it? The first damn pill in each damn row is a Sunday. And what were you supposed to do when you missed a pill? Double up the next day, but obviously she hadn't.

_It's okay_, she told herself. It's just one pill, one day, the hormones would drop, but they wouldn't disappear. Not with one missed pill. She wouldn't even have noticed if Owen hadn't-- _Shit_. Cristina sat on the closed toilet seat, suddenly short of breath.

She blamed residency. It was the same reason they couldn't have a baby. At this point in the year, eighty hours was a joke. They were all smudging on their hours, there was no way not to. And next year would be worse, her fifth year she didn't even want to think about… And being on call so much, the days blended together. Cristina squeezed her eyes shut and bent at the waist; she silently told herself that it would be okay. She willed herself to believe. _It was just one pill. _


	4. Chapter 4: Answers

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

* * *

_Author's note: thanks to eveyone who's reviewed so far, I really appreciate it. There might not be an update for a few days, but please keep the reviews coming. They're great motivation._

* * *

Owen had had a restless night's sleep. He had spent his evening worrying about Cristina's unwillingness to answer his calls, and wondering what it meant for their relationship. And he had been disappointed. He had needed someone to talk to after his visit with his mother, and it was unusual not having Cristina to talk to.

And work was no better, he'd spent the better part of the morning alternating between being distracted and being downright cranky. He'd snapped at one of the NPs who, having had enough of him, snapped right back. Following that interaction, during the early hours of his shift, he'd paged Cristina. A couple times. And while he made sure she knew the pages were personal, and not professional, he was still disappointed when she didn't respond.

He was in line at the coffee cart when Mark Sloan found him and announced, without preamble, that Callie Torres was worried about Owen and Cristina's relationship. This is not the kind of thing you want to hear announced at the coffee cart, and certainly not by Mark Sloan.

"I'm sorry, what?" Owen asked, baffled. And while he was used to Mark, liked him even (they had settled into an easy friendship following the penis debacle), he still managed to be surprised by Mark's inability to recognize which conversation topics were inappropriate disclosures of information.

"Torres is moving out. She told Yang last night and Yang asked her to keep it quiet for awhile, because she 'needed some time'. Now, Torres asked me not to say anything to you but let's be honest, people don't tell me things they don't expect everyone to know about. And I like you, Hunt, so I thought you should know first."

"Know what, exactly?" Owen asked. Having reached the head of the line he turned to the employee at the cart. "A coffee for me. He'll have a cappuccino."

Sloan grinned broadly, "You remembered."

Owen paid for the drinks and reached for his coffee as they stepped aside to wait for the cappuccino. "So Torres is moving out. I'm not sure why this makes her worried about my relationship with Yang."

"Because Yang doesn't want her to announce it."

Owen stared at him blankly.

"Because she's not ready to move in with you." Mark said, connecting the dots for him. He reached for his cappuccino, looking pleased with himself.

Owen's eyes squinted from the effort of making sense of this logic. "We haven't talked about moving in together, there's no reason for her to worry." Although maybe this was why she wasn't taking his calls. "When did Torres tell her?"

"Last night." This made sense.

"Hm, she didn't answer her phone last night."

Mark nodded. "Avoiding you," he sighed and shook his head. "Yang and Grey have some serious commitment issues. I lucked out with Little Grey, none of it rubbed off. So are you going to tell her?" he asked as they separated, Owen headed back to the ER, Mark on his way to clinic.

"I think she's requested multiple times you stop referring to her as Little Grey. Tell her what?" Owen asked.

Mark flipped his free hand, as if swatting the remark away, "Oh, she doesn't mean it. Tell her you don't want to move in with her."

Owen was incredulous. "Why the fuck would I want to do that?"

*

Finding an OB/Gyn resident, it turns out, was not a problem. She was mildly worried about being seen in their clinic, but she had questions and they had answers. The first one she spotted looked the way she expected an OB/Gyn resident to look. Long, glossy brown hair held back away from her face by an ornately beaded headband. Small gold earrings in the shape of umbrellas. _Seriously, umbrellas_? _What did that even mean_? The woman's dark blue Danskos were painted with flowers.

"Excuse me? Hello, hi," Cristina glanced at the other woman's name badge, which was pinned to her dark pink scrubs and read 'Jennifer Clark'. "Dr. Clark, I'm Cristina Yang. I need a favor."

Jennifer Clark eyed her warily, becoming even less congenial when she read "General Surgery" on Cristina's ID.

Cristina, ignoring the precursors to a blow off, kept right on talking. "Pretending, for a second, that I'm your patient and that we have doctor-patient confidentiality, do you know anything about birth control pills?"

"You're my patient in this scenario?" Dr. Clark asked, for clarification.

Cristina nodded.

"Then make an appointment," the other woman said, turning away. "I have a non-pretend patient to see."

Cristina followed her, feeling rushed to keep up with Clark's long strides. What was she, six feet tall? "Because I maybe missed a pill, and I'm wondering what the effectiveness of the pill is, if you miss one."

"Just take two pills today," Clark said, opening the door to an exam room before finally turning to face Cristina. "Or make an appointment."

It wasn't the first time Cristina had had a door closed in her face, and it wasn't a deterrent today. She was wearing scrubs; she was wearing a white coat. The patient would assume it was normal if she came in. And this was _important_. She opened the door. Clark turned in surprise, her mouth falling open. "What are you doing?"

Cristina waved to the patient, who was luckily fully dressed and not in stirrups. She had to be about fifteen months pregnant, her belly was huge. "Hi, ma'am. I'm Dr. Yang. General Surgery."

The woman clutched her stomach. "Oh my God, do I need surgery?"

Cristina shook her head, "Oh, no, no ma'am. I just had a quick question for Dr. Clark here before she starts your appointment."

Clark looked rabid. "Get out," she hissed at Cristina, just low enough that the patient didn't here.

"Is there a know percentage decrease in effectiveness, when you miss a pill?" Cristina asked, looking at her pleadingly. "Please, I can't go through this whole day not knowing."

"You know I was on birth control," the patient said, smiling wistfully. "And I didn't miss a single pill."

"It's very unusual," Clark said, relenting, sensing that an answer was the only way to get the pushy petite woman out of her face. "I don't know the numbers, but if you only miss one the chances are very small. I mean, of course it happens, missing a dose decreases the effectiveness, and like Marjorie points out even people who take every pill can end up pregnant. She was on antibiotics and didn't use the recommended back up method," Clark said, looking over her shoulder at Marjorie before turning back to Cristina. "But if the pill has been effective for you so far, then there is nothing to worry about. And if you're worried, take a pregnancy test. Now, really, you have to go, this is rather inappropriate."

"Oh, I don't mind," Marjorie said happily, relaxing back into the table, resting on her arms, which she'd stretched out behind her. "And she's right, the doctor at the Urgent Care clinic said to use a back up method, but…whoopsy doopsy."

"I mind," Clark said to Cristina, ignoring Marjorie's happy acceptance of Cristina's interruption.

"Wouldn't it depend on when in your cycle you missed the pill?" Marjorie asked conversationally. "When'd you miss the pill, Dr. Yang?"

"I don't know," Cristina said, taking a step further into the room, grateful to have someone willing to listen, even if it was an accidentally pregnant chick.

Clark rolled her eyes. "How do you _not know_?"

"I just don't," Cristina said. "I just know I took the last pill a day later than I should have. And I took all the pills this week, so it must have been some time in the middle that I missed one."

"Make an appointment, Dr. Yang."

"But seriously, they don't give you effectiveness rates for missed days?" Cristina asked pleadingly.

Clark grabbed her by the arm and escorted her from the room. "You have an infinitesimally small chance of being pregnant. If you are pregnant, you can come back. Until then I don't want to see you again," Clark said, not unkindly. "Find another pretend doctor for your pretend pregnancy. Or get a psych consult."

"Bye, Dr. Yang. Good luck!" Marjorie called amiably as Clark shut the door in her face for the second time.

*

Meredith stared at her, uncomprehending. "Seriously? You're worrying about this." She paused for dramatic effect. "Seriously?"

"Burke and I used protection, it failed. Things fail. Marjorie got pregnant," Cristina said, her speech rapid, sweat at her brow. Meredith watched her friend pace anxiously around the on call room they'd snuck away to.

"Who is Marjorie?" Meredith asked.

"Dr. Jennifer Clark, she's an OB/Gyn resident. She's six feet tall and has a thing for umbrellas. Marjorie is her patient."

"You went to see OB/Gyn?" Meredith asked. "You _are_ worried."

Cristina looked at her, her face disbelieving. "You don't think I should be worried?"

Meredith shook her head. "Everyone misses a pill, Cristina. Everyone. And even if you're pregnant, your boyfriend loves you _and_ he wants babies."

Cristina clenched her fists and stomped a foot on the floor, "Mere, _I_ don't want babies!"

Meredith sighed and reached for Cristina's hand. "Well, that's good. Because you're not pregnant. Really, Cristina. What is really wrong with you? Did something else happen with Owen?"

"Yes. Everything, Very fast. Everything happened and it all happened very fast." Cristina paused, looked down at her tennis shoes, then back up at Meredith. "Callie is moving out." Cristina said, sitting down on one of the beds.

Meredith sat down next to her. "What does that mean?"

Cristina shook her head. "What if he wants to move in?"

Meredith sat up straighter, her face a mask of seriousness. "Well, of course, you'll _have_ to break up with him. Moving in together? No way, it's not like you've been going out for almost a year or anything."

Cristina was silent. Meredith sighed and put her hand on Cristina's arm. "I thought we made a deal. Lean into the fear, remember?"

*

Jennifer Clark was just as easy to find the second time around.

"I'm sorry about barging in, earlier," Cristina said quietly.

The brunette didn't look up from her paperwork. "You're here, which must mean you're pregnant, which while it may not be a medical miracle is still remarkably rare."

Cristina leaned against the unoccupied nurse's station with her. "You've seen it before, though, right? People missing one pill?"

"Unbelievable," Clark sighed. "When my patients tell me they missed one pill, it doesn't mean one. It means they've had a spotty record of pill taking. Or it means they stopped taking the pill without discussing it with their partner, and don't want to have to explain it. So yes, I've seen it. But you, Dr. Yang, you _did_ miss _one_ pill," she paused, and Cristina thought she would stop but Clark continued, her voice taking on a lecturing tone. "So unless you're here because you want me to draw blood, I can't do anything for you. I can't tell you that what used to be over 98 percent effectiveness is now 82 percent. You want a number; I can't give you a number. All I can do is point out that maybe you're wrong about why you're here."

Cristina found herself shrinking away as the other woman's voice increased in shrillness and volume.

Clark continued, either not noticing or not caring about Cristina's slow withdrawal from her personal space. "Maybe you want to believe it can happen, which is why you haven't taken a pregnancy test or waited until you've missed a period. You want to believe it can happen, because if it did you could call it an accident and you wouldn't have to stop taking the pill in order to get pregnant. You want a commitment-free pregnancy. Well, you can't have one. So unless I'm going to stick a needle in your arm and put us both out of our misery, we're done here."

And all this without ever once looking up. It was Cristina's turn to sigh. Either she needed to sleep, or he psych consult was a good idea, Cristina's pager went off as Clark left the chart she'd been working on at the nurse's station and sauntered off. Owen again. His third page today. Dejectedly, she made her way to the ER.


	5. Chapter 5: Last Kiss

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

Jennifer Clark had taken the wind out of her sails, and Cristina was impressed with that. The sharp tongue, the overbearing confidence. Even if Clark wasn't right, she sounded right. She obviously believed she was right. And doesn't that say something in itself?

She would have made a good surgeon. An Addison Montgomery type of surgeon, spending most of her days in elegant, expensive clothes, only wearing scrubs when she was operating. She was a good doctor, and was probably an excellent obstetrician. But she would have made a very poor shrink. While she probably was right more often than she was wrong, she was absolutely wrong about Cristina. She didn't want to be pregant, accidental or not. She was a surgeon. And she was the scrubs-wearing kind of surgeon. She was not an Addison Montgomery, or a Jennifer Clark. She was not a woman first. And to be honest, she wished people would stop expecting her to be. And she wished Owen Hunt could walk into a room without reminding her that, without a shadow of a doubt, she was a woman. Because sometime being anything other than a surgeon crowded her, made it impossible to move, or to breath, or to even think straight. Made her do things like avoid the inevitable until she had to face it, and the delay, the build-up, made the task that much bigger than it would have been.

The ER was a madhouse, but apparently not overrun with traumas, because when she entered the room she immediately caught Owen's attention and he approached her. He needed a haircut, and his red locks looked more tousled than usual, as if he'd been running his hands through it for the better part of the morning. She felt her heart rate quicken as he approached with long, confident strides. It was a little unfair, sometimes. She'd already fallen in love with him. But each day she fell a little bit more, a little bit harder, and the sensation of not having the ground beneath her feet swept through her at inopportune times. The ground should be something a person could take for granted.

"Cristina, hey," he said in greeting, then motioned her into the supply closet. She followed and he closed the door behind them before turning to her and shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets in that way he had when he was forcing himself to Be Still. "Please tell me what's going on. Did I do something? Are you unhappy?"

Cristina shook her head, and her mind took off, racing to find the response that would result in the quickest resolution of this conversation. She didn't want this conversation. She didn't want to be the crazy girl that, against all medical, scientific, evidence-based odds, _knew_ she was pregnant. Because that's inexplicable. And crazy. And if he knew, he would think she was losing it. He would assume the long hours and the fast pace were getting to her. He would think she couldn't handle residency. He would start requesting her to assist on his surgeries, so he could watch her. He had taken an interest in Alex's training when Izzie got sick, monitoring him for signs of stress. He would do the same for her, but it wouldn't be like it was for Alex. She would recognize what was happening. She was his girlfriend. She wasn't his pet and she wasn't going crazy.

"I'm fine," she said. "We're fine. Why wouldn't we be?"

Owen looked at her, his face didn't reflect his disappointment. But his eyes did. They seemed to darken a bit, the way the sea darkens in a storm. And a heaviness came over the room, which suddenly even smelled like lies—stale and sour. He just watched her as the seconds ticked by, and with each moment felt like she was digging herself into a hole he wouldn't be able to pull her out of. And yet, still, after everything he was the first to break the silence. Reaching out to her the way he so often did.

"I love you, Cristina, but I don't just need you to choose me. I need you to choose us. I need you to choose a future for us."

There were multiple ways to push him away in this moment. She could tell him he was being overly dramatic. She could tell him she didn't understand what he meant, or what he wanted. She could tell him that she had a patient, and she didn't have time for riddles. Each response was on the tip of her tongue, poised like a snake read to strike. And yet when she opened her mouth none of it came out.

"What kind of future? What are you asking for?" she asked.

"I'm not asking for anything right now. But I still need you to decide what you're in this for. Are you in this for a happily ever after? For a marriage and a baby? For getting old together? Because I have all those things on my 'eventually' list. And I want to share all of them with someone. And I want it to be you, Cristina, but I need to know what's on your list. If you see marriage, or children. And if you don't, I need you to _tell_ me. I'm sorry, I…" his words trailed just as Cristina's heart started to pound. The silence stretched out between them like a vast expanse of desert, dry and uninviting. Owen's last words lay between them like a line drawn in the sand.

"You don't have to be sorry," Cristina finally said.

Owen breathed out, the exhalation heavy with sadness. As if it was all already decided, and he had read the answer in her eyes, or her silence. "Avoiding me wasn't an answer to anything."

"I'm not saying 'no'. You can't ask for an answer immediately. You're asking something huge here."

Owen shook his head. "If you have the answer, I want you to give it to me now. If you don't I can wait for a bit. But I can't wait forever. If you say 'no'… if you say 'no' I have to start over. So stop screening calls. Stop ignoring pages. Because we're nothing if you can't talk to me."

"I can talk to you, I—"

"Were you going to 'talk' to me about Callie?" he interrupted.

Cristina looked down at her feet. "I just needed some time to decide."

"I don't need you be ready to move in together right now, Cristina," he said, stepping up to her and taking her hands in his. "But I need it to be on your eventually list. _We_ need to be on your eventually list."

Cristina looked up at him, found his eyes were searching her face. And of course she knew the answers. It was an instinctual knowledge which had arrived on the heels of an ambulance and a brash, overconfident man in camouflage. But the words didn't come.

When he kissed her, it was unexpected. But her response was immediate. She raised herself up on her tiptoes, slid her arms around his broad shoulders and opened her mouth to his. He devoured her, his passion, usually kept under wraps in the hospital, was so strong it nearly took away her breath.

Looking back on it later, she wouldn't be able to recall how she ended up pressed against the door, one of his hands buried in her hair, the other caressing her bare neck. It stopped just as abruptly as it had begun, and he pulled away, immediately straightening his white coat before running a hand over her hair, trying to calm the curls.

"Wh-" the sound came out on an exhale, but she ran out of breath before she could complete the word. "What was that about?" she finally asked as her breathing became more regular.

Owen tucked a stand of hair behind her ear as he moved her away from the door. "Last night when we kissed it was just a quick peck when I dropped you off at your apartment," he said, pausing for too long before he continued. "I don't know what your answer will be, Cristina. I don't know what your answer will be and I didn't want that to be the last time we kissed.

And then he left. Just like that, he left, pulling the door closed behind him.


	6. Chapter 6: Bullet Points

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

_Sorry for the delay and for the shortness of this chapter, I have a horrible head cold, which delayed things, and then went haywire. Anyway, thank you for all the reviews! I was so happy to see the increased response following chapter 5. Sweet._

* * *

"You told Owen?" Cristina demanded when she found Callie, had to follow her through the halls as Callie was on her way somewhere, walking fast enough that her coat trailed behind her, billowing like a white flag.

"No," Callie said sharply, glancing behind her. "You told me not to tell Owen. And while I disagree with your decision, you're my roommate, and you're my friend. So even if I think you are making a huge mistake, I did not tell Owen."

"Sloan told Owen."

Callie shrugged, almost defiantly. If anyone could shrug defiantly, it was Callie. "I guess."

"You told Sloan."

"Mark is my friend," Callie said, and if an explanation could be defiant, this one was. Callie was, for a reason Cristina didn't quite understand, upset with her. But that was neither here nor there, and it wasn't not what she came to talk to her about.

"What did you tell your friend?"

"I told her to be honest with her boyfriend," Callie said, her voice flat even as she continued her fast pace down the hall, taking an effort to slow her steps, not wanting it to look as if she were fleeing the woman following at her heels. Because _she_ wasn't running away.

Cristina shook her head, pushing her body for more speed so that she was walking next to Callie, rather than following behind her. "What did you tell your friend Sloan?"

Callie was unapologetic. "That I was moving in with my girlfriend, which is kind of big exciting news for me. The kind of news I want to share with my friends," she threw a glance at Cristina, her expression softening. "Even the scared stupid ones."

"So you didn't tell Sloan I asked you not to tell Owen?" Cristina asked. But she was looking and waiting for her denial, knowing the answer.

She knew what her roommate had told Mark Sloan. She knew because Callie had only told her about the move last night. And Owen would not have been upset if Cristina hadn't had a chance to tell him unless he knew that Cristina had made a choice _not_ to tell him. Because Owen Hunt didn't get upset when Cristina overlooked things, didn't tell him things that other girlfriends would instinctively know should be shared. The things she did recognize as being important, but chose not to share…those were the things that upset Owen Hunt.

Cristina's question was greeted with silence.

"Callie Torres," Cristina said, the other surgeon's name standing out like an accusation.

The two women finally stopped their rushed progress through the halls when they reached the elevator and Callie was forced to stop, press the button and wait for its arrival. She shook her head, but didn't look at Cristina when she said, "You are speeding toward Losing Everything, USA. Population: You." Her voice softened. "Yes, I told Mark. I was worried. I am worried."

"I asked you not to tell Owen, and you told Mark Sloan. Telling Sloan _is_ telling Owen. Telling Sloan is telling _everyone_!" Cristina hissed, but somewhere in the middle of her tirade the words lost their force. She visibly deflated, leaning against the wall just as the elevator arrived. They were greeted with a 'ding' and Callie watched as the elevator doors slowly opened to reveal Meredith Grey, soon to be Meredith Shepherd. Or Meredith Grey-Shepherd. Or Meredith Grey, wife of Derek Shepherd but without an interest in the last name Shepherd. Callie realized she didn't know what Meredith would call herself when it was all over. Was it weird that she would still be called Meredith, this once broken girl now healed and willing embraced the future.

"I have to go," Callie told Meredith, motioning to a dejected looking Cristina as Meredith came out of the elevator. "Can you take over here?"

Meredith nodded as Callie stepped past them into the elevator. "I'm sorry," Callie said as the doors closed, separating them. Cristina just sighed.

"Are you hungry?" Meredith asked Cristina, who scrunched up her face as if to say no, but nodded in the affirmative. They made their way to the cafeteria in silence.

They stood in the cafeteria line, speaking only about the food when choosing their salads. When Cristina did speak, during the first part of their lunch, it was about medicine. Meredith spoke when necessary, waiting it out until Cristina finally announced, without any explanation or preamble, "He wants to take a break."

"What kind of break?" Meredith asked, stabbing errant pieces of lettuce with her plastic fork. "A see-other-people break or a you-make-me-so-crazy-I-need-time-to-think break?"

Cristina sighed, and took her time answering a question that needed no further contemplation. "A I-need-you-tell-me-I'm-not-wasting-my-time break," she said, popping a slice of cucumber into her mouth and chewing.

Meredith's mouth opened slightly, as if surprised. "You're on an _ultimatum break_?" she asked.

Meredith's heart when out to her friend, who looked downright morose. Which didn't mean she didn't want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Trying to lighten the mood, she said, "Did he say 'shit or get off the pot'? He looks like a guy who would say 'shit or get off the pot'."

Against her better judgment, Cristina smiled. "You're an ass," she told her friend, and, losing her smile, groaned.

"I'm not!" Meredith said, laughing, glad to see Cristina coming out of her funk. "I am confused, though. What does he want? What's the ultimatum? Did he ask you to marry him? "

Which was a good question, one Cristina didn't have an answer for, because he hadn't asked her to marry him. He'd asked her if she would marry him, eventually. Like a theoretical proposal. _Will you marry me, in theory?_ Where was it all coming from? Did being around kids make him realize he wanted kids? Did Callie moving out make him realize he wanted to live together? Did thinking about having babies and living together make him want to get married? And when did he want to get married? In six months? After her residency? After her fellowship? And when did he want to have a baby? _Hopefully in nine months, because that's when he'll be getting one_. Cristina's heart fluttered, and she resisted pressing a palm to her abdomen.

"He has this list," Cristina finally said. "An eventually list. And he said marriage and babies are on the list. And he said he needs marriage and babies to be on my list, or he needs to start over."

"Start over?" Meredith sounded confused. "A new list?"

"Same list, just…with someone else," Cristina clarified.

Meredith drew back, looking momentarily stung. An uncomfortable silence settled on the table. Meredith watched Cristina, looking to see if her friend would say anything else, then timidly asked, "What's on your eventually list?"

Cristina looked over at Meredith's worried face, "A cardio-thoracic surgery fellowship." She paused, her thoughts on surgery, and life balance. She wasn't an Addison Montgomery, or a Jennifer Clark. She didn't do rings, at least not the ones you were supposed to keep on while you were working. No, if she was anything, she was an Ellis Grey. But Ellis Grey had said something to her once. Ellis Grey had told her 'I didn't try hard enough'. Because even she had wanted both—a life and a career. If Ellis Grey had had an eventually list, Richard Webber was feature prominently on it. And before that, Thatcher Grey had been on it.

So there was Ellis Grey—the Ellis Grey—this kick ass surgeon, and there was a man on her list. Ellis Grey was a scrub-wearing type of surgeon. Just like Cristina. Just like Owen. And there was no question that Richard Webber was a priority in her life.

"And he is," Cristina said softly, looking down on her plate as if she was announcing the contents of her heart to half a cherry tomato and some wilted pieces of lettuce. "He's on my list."

Meredith smiled, relief flooding through her. "Okay, now we're getting somewhere," she said, reaching across the table and putting her hand on Cristina's arm. Cristina found herself looking down at the ring on Meredith's finger. Once upon a time Derek had asked Cristina if Meredith would want to keep his mother's setting, or if she would want to change it to something more modern. She'd refused to answer but had known instinctively that Meredith wouldn't change a thing.

"We are?" Cristina asked.

Meredith nodded. "He's already on your list," Meredith said, her voice soothing. "So, he comes with a few bullet points. We can handle a few bullet points, right?"

Only Meredith could describe marriage and babies as bullet points. If any categories deserved their own heading, surely it was marriage and babies. But Cristina nodded, unsure. Because what if Thatcher Grey had come with bullet points? Ellis Grey had not been a good wife. She had not been a good mother. She had wanted the life and the career once. And what good had that done her? Or Thatcher? Or Meredith?

"You did it before," Meredith whispered. "Or you could have. You would have."

"But look what happened." Cristina squeezed her hand into a fist in order to avoid pressing it against her abdomen, the wave of protectiveness sudden and strong.

She was relieved when Alex Karev set down his lunch tray with a thud and heaved himself into the chair next to Cristina without so much as a word of greeting. His dark mood shut down all further conversation. It was one of those days when he would be insufferable. But they allowed him these days, mostly without comment. And today—today Cristina was even grateful for it.

**

It had been awhile since the three of them had been in an OR together. Owen always felt bad for the patient, in these scenarios. If your condition pulled the Head of Trauma, The Head of Neurosurgery and the Head of Plastics into the same operating room, it was not a good sign for survival. No one was surprised when the patient died on the table, and they found themselves at Joes, talking over beers.

"I can't believe you gave her an ultimatum," Derek said, shaking his head.

"Can we talk about this later?" Owen asked, his eyes scanning the bar, hoping to see Cristina. Where was she? Was she thinking about him? Thinking about what he'd said?

"Of course he gave her an ultimatum," Mark said, oddly defensive. "A woman like that needs to be pushed."

Derek snickered, took a mouthful of beer, and shook his head. "You're going to tell me you know how to handle a woman like that? Because I seem to recall you failed miserably when trying to—"

"Here," Owen said brusquely. "I'm sitting right here." He'd seen Sloan spend a day hitting on Cristina, had reacted badly, and didn't want to relive the moment. He'd kicked her out of an operating room to avoid having to watch it the first time.

Mark shook his head. "Yes, she was unmoved by my charms. It only became clear why some time later," He glanced pointedly, but playfully, at Owen. "There's no accounting for taste."

"Could we please have a few drinks without deconstructing my relationship?" Owen asked quietly.

"Sure," Derek said, his disappointment evident in his voice. For someone who didn't get along with Cristina, he was oddly protective over her. Maybe because of the 'person' connection. He had to be worried about his upcoming nuptials, worrying if Meredith would be able to go through with the wedding if her person's relationship fell apart just before they married. "You've deconstructed it enough."

Owen clenched his teeth and willed himself not to say anything. Derek Shepherd could be a know-it-all bastard, and he would have been angry at his butting in if he didn't have a sinking suspicion that Derek was right—that he had made a horrible mistake with Cristina.

There was nothing like the unsolicited advice of a friend to make you second-guess yourself.

"So two more weeks until the big day, huh Shepherd?" Mark said, trying to steer the conversation away from the black hole that was Owen's bad mood. "Getting cold feet?"

Derek just shook his head. "Meredith and I are supposed to be together. She's the one. When you find the one, Mark, she'll make your feet warm."

The remark stung, Owen could tell. Mark didn't need to hear hinting that Lexie wasn't the one. Didn't need reminders he'd had what his friends saw as more suitable women in his life. Addison. And Callie. Strong women. Maybe a little too strong. Maybe strong enough to realize their lives would pass them by while they waited for Mark Sloan to change. But Lexie Grey-- Lexie Grey still had time. She had all the time in the world, and it was Mark Sloan waiting for someone to grow up. The role reversal could have been called just desserts, but maybe that wasn't fair to Lexie. Maybe none of it was fair to Lexie. She was a good girl—a good woman. And she could be the right woman for Mark. He just had to give her the time that Addison never gave him.

Derek and Owen sat in silence as Mark shook his head. Derek said, "I'm sorry," and it sounded sincere. Mark nodded, his lips tight. He knew his friends meant well.

Even Callie meant well, and she was the one that still rolled her eyes. Because Callie knew things Owen and Derek didn't know. Callie knew that Mark had gone to Callie, had asked her, in a roundabout way, whether there was a chance for them. He knew a good thing, and Callie was a good thing. She was a good thing the way that Meredith was a good thing, the way that maybe even Cristina was a good thing. Owen and Derek were in relationships with their best friends. And Callie, Callie was Mark's best friend.

It just so happened that Mark wasn't with Callie. Mark was with Lexie. And she wasn't his best friend. But just because someone wasn't something, didn't mean they couldn't be. He had proven that, hadn't he? Hadn't he finally proven that?

Mark glanced at Owen, and felt sorry for the man. He was on the verge of losing his partner _and _his best friend, which has to be worse. Because, despite everything, Mark still had Callie. But when the dust settled Owen might not have Cristina. And knowing Owen, he would tell himself it was his own fault. He'd thrown up a road-block of his own construction. And the really sad part was that he hadn't even asked her to marry him, though you could tell he wanted to. He hadn't gotten down on one knee and proposed. He'd just asked her to tell him whether it was even a possibility, in the future. How does a relationship recover if she can't even answer?

What kind of woman didn't have an answer to a question like that? Even Callie had been able to give Mark an answer, when he'd shown up at her door stinking of booze and regret, and told her they were good together, could be great together. And he'd told her he would wait, if she would just say that maybe, once she worked things out, there might be a chance. No, even Callie had an answer. It just so happens that her answer was 'no'.

Mark looked up to find Owen and Derek staring at him, and the words he'd been about to speak got caught in his throat. If it were just Owen at the table, he could have gotten them out. He could have swallowed that bit of pride, and just said it. _At least she didn't say 'no'._

Owen forced out a laugh, talked out of the side of his mouth when he said, "What a bunch of idiots we are."

The look on Derek's face said _Speak for yourselves_. He didn't have to say that for them to hear it.


	7. Chapter 7: Regret

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

* * *

Meredith raised an eyebrow in silent question as Cristina declined a glass of wine and instead pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Seriously?" Meredith asked in surprise.

Cristina shook her head. "It's Thursday." She didn't bother to explain, just took the water into the living room and sat down on Meredith's couch, drawing her legs up onto the couch. Meredith followed her, her eyes watching in interest as Cristina positioned pillows in an effort to get comfortable. Once she had the desired nest, she pulled an afghan onto her lap. It was Meredith's favorite afghan, and each time she looked at it she pictured the way Irish wool slid between Izzie's finger, the colors alternating between a deep green and a creamy white. She couldn't bring herself to put it away yet, but one day she would. She would take it to be cleaned, and then she would take it to be packed away. She'd probably look like an idiot, walking into a business that wrapped up wedding dresses into airtight containers and asking them to save a blanket.

That day was coming, and she knew they would look at her like she was insane, and she would agree with them. You pack up a wedding dress because you aren't going to wear it again, but can't bear to let it go. But a blanket you could use every day. You were supposed to use it. You weren't supposed to put it in a box away from the elements, hoping to stop time and wear and tear, hoping to stop moths and friction created fabric against fabric. One day soon, she would have to pull the blanket off the couch, and she would have to stop time. But tonight, she just crawled onto the couch next to Cristina and pulled the other side of the afghan over her legs.

"What's Thursday?" Meredith asked.

Cristina glanced her way, holding her gaze for a moment before she looked down at where her fingers played with the cap of the water bottle. Screwing it and unscrewing it. Opening it and closing it. Taking it apart and putting it back together. Her hair was down, looked like she hadn't bothered even to put an anti-frizz product in when she'd gotten out of the shower. Her hair was still slightly damp but already was full around her face, the curls separated as if she'd been running her hands through it, the mass of it about twice the normal size by the time she showed up on Meredith's door. "I don't know if it's going to happen," she said quietly.

Meredith waited, using the silence, willing Cristina to fill it.

"My period," Cristina said. "I don't know if it's going to come." She exhaled, as if in relief, as if she'd been holding the words in and they'd been burning her lungs. She looked pained. Meredith knew she hadn't spoken with Owen since Monday, at least not personally. She'd been on his service on Wednesday, and they'd spoken about work. Apparently, according to Lexie, they'd been quite polite about it all. No snide remarks. No rolled eyes. No dismissive hand gestures. The atmosphere had been heavy with regret, which made the niceness that much harder to bear. And Lexie specialized in niceness, which had to attest to the level of tension and dread in any room Cristina and Owen occupied together.

Meredith reached out to put a hand on Cristina's arm, then thought better of it and instead moved in closer, fitting her body against hers and resting her head on Cristina's shoulder.

"Are you going to cry?" Meredith asked. "Because it's okay." She had been on the verge of saying something else entirely. Something about the stress of residency. Meredith had missed a period, and there had been months where the most she got was spotting. The lack of sleep and the long hours were hard on the body. But there are moments when it's appropriate to try and talk someone out of whatever emotion they're in, be it anger, or terror, or sadness. But this was not one of those moments. Now was not the time to tell Cristina that she'd spent the better part of the week jumping to conclusions and self-sabotaging. And most of it could be over so easily, if she would just talk to Owen, or just listen to logic and reason from medical professionals. Cristina took so long to answer the question that Meredith actually forgot what she had asked when it was finally answered.

"Yes," Cristina said. "I might cry." There were no tears in her voice, though. No tremor to hint at the pressure on the dam, or coming flood of tears.

"Is it because he loves you, and he wants to move forward with him, and you're scared?"

"Yes."

"And are you scared because you love him and you want to move forward with him?"

Cristina sighed, and then tipped her head in silent acknowledgement, her fingers taking up the bottle cap again.

Silence settled over them until, some minutes later, they heard the front door open, and Alex walked in. He stepped into the room, to greet them, and looked at Cristina, an expression of worry on his face. It only lasted a second, quickly changed to a look of irritation.

"Still not talking to your boyfriend?" he asked Cristina.

Meredith tensed, sitting up, "Alex—" she said, her voice soft but the tone a warning.

Alex ignored it. "You get that Izzie's dead, right?" he asked. "I mean, you get that, right? You get that I don't have the option of not talking to her, because I'm mad, or—" his voice caught, and he choked back the sob that caught him by surprise, "—hurt."

"Alex, don't," Meredith said again, as Cristina turned her face away.

"How much time does she thinks he has?" he demanded of Meredith, shaking his head. Addressing Cristina, he said, "You get that she's fucking dead, right?" Disgusted, he moved toward the stairs, making his way to his room. "He's going to leave you on your ass and you're too stupid to deserve any better."

The next sound they heard was a slamming door.

**

The phone was heavy in Owen's hand, but he found himself dialing her number anyway. He didn't know what he was expecting, maybe for the call to go to voicemail. And if she answered, he was expecting to grovel. To beg. To tell Cristina to pretend he'd never mentioned marriage and to say he was willing to settle for a pinkie-swear commitment at this point. But he wasn't expecting to hear Meredith's voice.

"Owen?" she said, having read the caller ID.

"Meredith?"

"I'm so glad you called, I didn't want to call you, and she would kill me if I called you about this, but Derek and Alex went into the hospital early and I don't know what to do." She was talking rapidly, sounding frazzled.

"Slow down, Meredith. What is it? What happened?" Owen found himself walking toward his office, where his keys and his coat were. He was supposed to be working a shift but that could be changed. He wouldn't have time to change out of his scrubs, he looked down to make sure they were free of blood, but he could at least get out of the white coat. Under any other circumstances he wouldn't leave the hospital in scrubs, he might have only been in the military for five years but he'd have gotten his ass handed to him if he'd walked out of a military hospital in scrubs crawling with hospital germs.

"Cristina stayed over last night, and I don't know what happened, but I can't get her up. She's just laying there."

Owen picked up his pace, almost jogging though the corridor. "Is she hurt? Did she hit her head?"

Meredith shook her head, forgetting that she was on the phone, then verbalized the thought. "No, it's—"

"Who are you talking to?" Cristina shouted from bathroom.

"No one!" Meredith responded, her tone firm, her voice loud. She lowered her voice and spoke into the phone, "No, she's fine. I mean, physically, she's fine. She's just—lying there."

Owen stopped running, realizing suddenly. "She won't get out of bed?" he asked, his relief evident in his voice. "She won't miss work just because she wants to stay in bed, Meredith. She'll make it in."

"Is that Owen?" Cristina yelled, sounding dismayed. "I'm having a moment, here! I'm not allowed to have a moment without you calling in the cavalry?" Meredith smiled, imagining the rest of the sentence, which went unsaid. _Don't feed the savior complex._

Meredith gave a nervous glance to the closed door. "She's not in bed; she's on the bathroom floor."

"She's lying on the bathroom floor?" Owen asked. "That's just disgusting."

Defensive, Meredith said, "It's not like she's lying on her bathroom floor. I have a very clean bathroom."

"Hang up the phone and you can come back in here," Cristina said, sounding defeated. "And tell him I'll see him at work."

"Owen, I think she's getting up, I have to go. And she says she'll see you at work."

"She did?" The weight on Owen's chest lifted ever-so-slightly. That's good, right? That's a good sign?"

_Well, it could go either way_, Meredith thought. Not wanting to tell him that she said, "It's a good sign."

She closed Cristina's cell phone and stepped into the bathroom. Cristina was in the same position, lying on her back looking up at the lights.

Meredith sat down beside her, then eased back, laying herself down gently. She could feel the coolness of the bathroom floor through her long-sleeved T-shirt. They stayed like this, still and noiseless until Cristina said. "It's Friday."

Meredith closed her eyes, unsure of what to say. "What are you going to do?" Because last time, before the emergency surgery, the answer had been a clinic. But last time was a lifetime ago.

"No," Cristina whispered, shaking her head. " No-- I had to borrow a tampon."

Understanding dawned on Meredith. She reached for her friend's hand, wrapping her fingers around Cristina's slightly smaller hand, intertwining her fingers with hers. "I'm so sorry," Meredith said.

And the dam burst. And Cristina cried.

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. The reviews keep me going and I really appreciate them._


	8. Chapter 8: Come See Me

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

* * *

"Hey," Cristina said as she knocked gently on the doorframe of the office.

Owen looked up in surprise, dropping the journal he was reading onto the desk and standing. He walked over to her, his eyes narrowing as he took her in. "What happened to your hair?" As if realizing the mistake of what he said, he took a physical step backwards. "I don't mean that— it looks fine, just..." She looked like she'd spent the night sleeping in the woods, and birds had taken the opportunity to nest on her head. She'd done her best to pull it back into a bun, but it was a lopsided effort. "…is that a rubber band? Never mind, it doesn't matter. Oh, Aidan called for you. Well, Gwen called, but Aidan left a voicemail for you…." His voice trailed off, as if he realized he was rambling.

"I slept at Meredith's last night," Cristina said, although Owen wasn't sure if it was just an announcement, of if she was trying to explain the hair.

"I know. I mean, she told me."

Cristina's brow furrowed. "That's right, she called you. Look, about that it was—"

"No."

Cristina looked up at him, confused. She watched him pull his cell phone out of his pocket at press a button. "No, I called you. She didn't call."

"You called?" Cristina said, trying to keep her voice neutral. She wasn't sure if she failed, but she had a sneaking suspicion the relief she felt had crept out alongside the words.

Owen held the phone out to her. "The message."

Cristina took the phone, held it to her ear. Gwen's voice was the first to come on, and she sounded happy. _"Hey Owen, it's Gwen. Aidan has some big news and he wanted to tell Cristina. We didn't have her number, obviously; anyway, hold on…here's Aidan. Aidan, tell Cristina what you did today." _There was a pause and some noises, as if the phone was being hit against something. Aidan's small voice came on. "_S'Tina, I'm Batman! Cora's the bad guy and I'm Batman". _

Owen watched as a grin formed on Cristina's face, and he felt an ache grow in his chest. He put his hands into the pockets of his white coat and looked down at his shoes, making every effort not to reach out and pull her against him.

In the background of the call, Cristina could hear Gwen's voice. _"No, bug, tell her what you did on the potty today, just like a big boy."_ Ignoring his mother, Aidan continued, _"And I'm Santa. Ho, ho, ho. What do you want for Christmas?" _Cristina's smile faded slightly, and she felt a rush of emotion she couldn't explain. Another round of prompting from Gwen and Aidan sighed dramatically, but refused to budge and announce his bowel movement. Instead, he said, "_Bye S'Tina, I love you." _Tears stung Cristina's eyes as a tone sounded, indicating the end of the message.

She handed the phone back to Owen and, blinking in an effort to hide her reaction, she forced a smile onto her face. "Cute. I—ah—I have to go get changed, but I'm on your service again today, so I'll see you in a bit?"

Owen took the phone, watching her with interest as she turned to back out of the room. "We're on call tonight. I noticed you were on, too," he said to her back. "But maybe tomorrow night? Dinner? We could talk."

Cristina looked back at him from over her shoulder. "Yes, tomorrow night. We'll talk."

*

Mark's text had read: _Coffee?_ _Cafeteria. Now. I'll get them and grab a table._

And since no one had gotten themselves shot, or stabbed, or hurled their bodies toward what should have been certain death, Owen was free. One idiot had shrapnel injuries from a bonfire explosion, but even that patient was long gone.

And Cristina was busy, had found a patient. Owen had watched a woman walk through the doors to the Emergency Room dripping blood from between her legs. He'd taken one look at her tear-streaked face and been positive the ER staff would be gathering a rape kit, but it was a miscarriage. It was non-surgical, but Cristina had paged OB and was waiting for one of their residents to arrive.

The non-surgical nature of the patient's case meant that Cristina was in the room by choice, not necessity. He hoped that she'd just felt for the woman, but the more likely scenario was she was the only patient in the ER who was not presenting with flu or cold type symptoms or simple lacerations, and so was the only case that could give her plausible deniability. _I'm not avoiding you. I have a patient._

The place was crawling with nurses and Owen wasn't sure why she didn't just leave, like she normally would have. He'd wandered over to the curtained area where she was on some pretense, but it'd been clear the way Cristina said OB/Gyn was sending Jennifer Clark that she wasn't going anywhere. Which ruled out asking her to coffee. He wanted to ask her how on earth she'd managed to retain the name of the OB they were sending down. She didn't know any of the OB residents names, could not retain the information when told.

But then he got Mark's page, which at least gave him someone to talk to. He found Mark and Derek sitting in the cafeteria. Owen smiled and walked over to their table, heaved himself into a chair with a sigh and pointed at Mark's cup in confusion. "That's from the coffee cart. You already had coffee."

Mark shrugged, "I stopped on the way down. They don't make cappuccinos here, and unlike the two of you I'm not satisfied with toilet water filtered through what they're calling coffee beans. Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not my superior tastes."

Owen laughed. "Okay. What's up?" He looked between Mark and Derek, his curiosity peaked. Derek was gritting his teeth, and just shook his head. It was Mark who said, "Big Grey says that Yang's convinced herself she's the Virgin Mary and she's with child."

"Cristina's on the pill," Owen said.

At the same time, Derek said, "Would you stop with the ridiculous nicknames?"

"Hence the miraculous conception," Mark said to Owen. He turned to Derek, "She started it, McDreamy."

"I think you're trying to reference the Immaculate Conception," Derek interjected, shaking his head and almost smiling at Mark, seeming to lighten up for a moment despite obviously having been dragged here and forced to offer up information Meredith had intended he keep to himself.

"The Immaculate Conception is the conception of the Virgin Mary," Mark corrected, "_you're_ obviously thinking of the virginal conception of Jesus. As Yang is neither free from original sin, or free from sex, neither fits and you can stop mocking me. Yang's conception, while on the pill, was accurately described as a miracle."

Owen had long since lost his smile. "What is this about?"

Derek sighed, leaning forward. "I talked with Meredith before I left for work this morning. She told me the reason Cristina had spent the evening in my bed with my fiancée while I slept in a spare bedroom is because Cristina missed a pill and lost her damn mind."

Mark winced at the sharpness of Derek's words. "Don't mind him," Mark said, looking pointedly at Derek though he was clearly talking to Owen. "He's just stressed because Meredith is delegating all of the last minute wedding details to him."

Derek grimaced. "She wanted gardenias, they can't get enough, but she's refusing to make a choice on another white flower. How many white flowers are there that she can't choose one? Why am I on and off the phone with the florists and the caterers a couple times a day? Why doesn't she have an opinion? She has an opinion about everything, why can't she have an opinion about peonies or sweet peas or chrysanthemums?"

Mark grinned. "If your wedding was a surgery, she'd have an opinion," he said teasingly. "Hell, if your wedding was a surgery Yang would take over, she'd plan the whole thing."

Owen had been sitting back, his eyes following the back and forth but his mind reeling. He grabbed his coffee, pushed his chair back. "I have to go talk to Cristina."

"Oh, no you don't. Not going to happen," Mark said, pointing a finger at him. "Any day now she's going to realize she's not pregnant and—"

"Why are you so sure she's not pregnant?" Owen asked. "She wouldn't think she was pregnant if she didn't have a reason. People _can_ get pregnant on birth control."

Derek opened his mouth to speak but, unsure of what to say, closed it again.

Mark, wanting to make himself clear said, "The answer is you were disclosed this information under the protection of the Man Code."

Owen eyed him warily. "Did you really just pull out 'bros before hos'?"

Mark squinted up at him. "Learn it," Mark said in mock seriousness, trying to get a handle on the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. Never one to hide much below the surface, it was clear what was on Mark's mind…_These two take themselves way too seriously. _"Live it."

**

"You told Owen. Derek, why did you tell Owen?" Meredith asked as she furiously scrubbed at her arms and hands.

Derek just shook his head. "Meredith, we are getting married in less than two weeks. I will not have these two putzing around, refusing to talk to each other. There will be no moping at our wedding." Pulling away from the scrub sinks with his arms raised he continued, "If they can't get it together they're uninvited."

"They're our friends," Meredith replied. "And they're half the wedding party. You can't uninvited half the wedding party two weeks before the wedding." Knowing it was an empty threat, her tone was light, her voice soothing. She finished at the sinks and followed behind him, where they were gowned and gloved.

"I can't believe you did that," Meredith said, looking worried.

"He deserves to know what she's thinking," Derek said, walking over to the operating table and the patient.

"That's just it, Derek. She doesn't think it anymore," she glanced around at everyone in the room, worried about saying too much now that they had an audience. "She's _not_. And now he thinks something that she doesn't think, that she clearly doesn't know he knows she was thinking and he cannot _not_ tell her. He'll try to talk to her about this and she's going to freak out. And _that's_ what's going to ruin the wedding. It's going to get worse, and in all the wedding pictures his forehead is going to be all scrunched up like it is when he's worried, and it's because _you_ told him what she was thinking!"

Derek had picked up the scalpel, but turned to her in surprise, a soft smile forming at his lips. He didn't know what he would do, without these little moments. She was thinking about the wedding photos. She was worried about the wedding photos. She thought—and worried—about the wedding.

"Magnolias," he said, grinning. Meredith rolled her eyes, but smiled in spite of herself. "Geraniums. Tulips. Petunias. _Just pick a flower_, woman."

**

"Dr. Clark's on her way," Cristina said, drawing the curtain closed around them. "Can I get you some water?"

The woman just shook her head. "I thought I had time to do this," she said, turning her wedding band nervously around her fingers. "The ectopic pregnancy, I mean, I was in my twenties. I was only down one tube, so what's the big deal, right? But this is my third miscarriage, and I'm thirty eight, and I'm out of time. We tried for years in between all the miscarriages. I don't have years, anymore."

Cristina was silent, unsure what to say. She didn't know quite why she was here, whether it was for the patient, or if she was waiting to see Jennifer Clark.

"And this time we made it to thirteen weeks. Thirteen weeks," she was crying again, wiping furiously at her eyes with her hands. "And it was in my head like some magical number. Like I'd finally made it, and we were safe. Because that's what everyone said, they said after the first trimester, chances of miscarriage go down dramatically. And we made it, and I was so relieved. And now— now I have to tell my husband it happened again," she looked up at Cristina. "You know our neighbors have a kid," she drew in a breath. "My husband volunteers, coaches his soccer team, he's out there every weekend, practices twice a week. He's meant to be a dad. My husband's a dad and I can't give him a single kid."

It occurred to Cristina that she should be witnessing this. Or that she didn't want to. It occurred to her that she had no idea why she'd stayed here, had subjected herself to this woman's misery. She didn't know what to say, whether to try to comfort this woman, or if there was any comfort. She was grateful when the curtain was pulled back to reveal the familiar shape of Jennifer Clark, all tall, lean grace.

"Oh, hello Dr. Yang," she said, looking pleasantly surprised. She was holding the patient's chart.

"Dr. Clark," Cristina nodded. She turned to the patient. "I'm going to leave you with Dr. Clark now, Kate," she said, squeezing the woman's shoulder gently.

The patient nodded. As Cristina was leaving, Dr. Clark explained they were going take her to an exam room for a pelvic exam. Cristina, anxious to get away, walked toward the nurse's station. She leaned against it, and looking around she could see things had picked up in the ER. A possible appendectomy came in, an eighteen year old kid with acute RLQ pain. She ordered a CT scan and sent an intern with the patient, frustrated that her day on the trauma service had so far resulted in her picking pieces of a beer bottle out of some moron's thighs, a depressing OB case and now a general surgery patient someone else would scrub in on. And where was Owen? She was allowing herself a moment to wallow in self pity when she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

"Hey."

"Dr. Clark, hi" Cristina said, looking up.

"You can call me Jennifer, Cristina," She said.

Only slightly taken aback, Cristina nodded. "How is she?"

"Not good, open cervix, but there's some tissue up there still. We're prepping her for a D & C. She'll be able to go home soon but, still, not good. Her husband showed up. She sent him away. I hate these, they're so sad. And I don't know what she's thinking… I don't think I could go through something like that without my husband."

"You're married?" Cristina asked, unable to hide her shock.

"I am. My husband's at Cornell, though. Fellowship," she glanced at Cristina. "He was here last year, General Surgery. He remembers you."

"You don't wear a ring," Cristina said, still suspicious.

Jennifer looked taken a back. "Oh, I hate rings," she said, shaking her head. "I tried wearing it for a bit, but I wash my hands so much, I just couldn't make it work," she gave a self depreciating laugh. "Which is not to say I'm scrubbing in on multiple C-sections a day. The most I can do is earrings." Cristina double-checked, not surprised to see it was still the umbrellas. "He likes his, though," Jennifer continued, "which is weird to me. He scrubs in a heck of a lot more than I do. So, any news on your end? I hate to admit I'm curious."

Cristina shook her head. "Yeah, no, you were right." _And it turns out you're not Addison Montgomery at all._

Jennifer nodded. "Well, you know where to find me. We can talk about getting you off the pills, and—" she stopped in mid-sentence, her attention drawn to something down the hall. "Oh my, is that pretend-dad? Because the way he's looking at you makes me think he belongs to you."

Cristina turned, followed Jennifer's gaze. "Yeah, that's him."

"Lucky girl," Jennifer smiled, moving away. "He's delicious. Come see me. Make an appointment."

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_Author's note: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, I am very appreciative of all the comments. Reviews are very motivating! (And see, you got rewarded with an update after only a day!)_


	9. Chapter 9: House of Candles

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

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_Author's note: I'm not *thrilled* with this chapter, but I'm posting it anyway. Thanks to everyone for the increased response on the last two chapters! _

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For a day that had started out so tamely, it had quickly become a nightmare. Owen's coming to find her had not been personal, and instead they ended up walking together to the ambulance bay where paramedics would be dropping off a fifteen year old boy with multiple stab wounds. It had been a surprisingly quick surgery, but it was not the last. They would exit the OR to inevitably be dragged back in with another patient.

"I'm sorry about this," Owen said at one point, tearing off his gown, as if in between cases he was roaming the streets of Seattle attacking unsuspecting citizens so that he might have the opportunity to spend more time with her in the OR.

By eight p.m., they'd closed what looked to be the last case and Cristina should have been dead on her feet, but instead adrenaline coursed through her veins. She loved watching Owen Hunt operate. At times, his surgical style seemed almost instinctual, like he made it up as he went along. When something didn't work in the OR, there was no delay, no long contemplation of what he might try next. He planned ahead, assumed things were not going to work out for him, as they so often didn't, and he rolled with the punches. He uncomplicated the complicated. He predicted the unpredictable. And he fixed things.

She wanted to be innovative, too, but she wanted the innovation to be planned, and studied. A new technique. The use of an old technique in a new way. Planned improvements on technically precise procedures. Something more intellectual, than instinctual. She was better at the intellectual stuff. She didn't mind pausing when something went wrong, finding the right answer or a different solution because it was in the literature. It was all in the literature. It frustrated her that he didn't seem to need the literature in order to operate, in the OR or in life.

They scrubbed out and moved out of the operating room. Theirs had been the only surgery going, and as they were the first to leave the room, they found themselves alone in the hallway.

"You don't look tired," Owen said, tucking a strand of hair that had worked its way loosed from the rubber band behind her ear.

Cristina shook her head. "Kind of wired, actually. I'm going to go track down Mere. She's on tonight, too."

Owen nodded, said he had to go check on some things before heading to one of the on call rooms for some rest. She noticed with some disappointment that he didn't invite her to find him when she was done with Meredith. It worried her. He'd been quiet and distant all day. As if he were slowly but surely pulling away from her.

Cristina started to move away, but stopped and half-turned to peek at him. He looked exhausted, and downtrodden. "So, tomorrow…" she said, but she hadn't thought out the rest of the sentence, and the words died on her tongue.

Owen forced a smile. "Tomorrow."

Cristina turned to leave and unexpectedly, he reached for her arm. His fingers gently wrapped around her elbow and a tingling sensation flooded through her, originating at where his skin touched hers. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before pulling away just as abruptly and leaving her rooted in place. She looked pleased when they pulled apart, and but she watched him leave with a growing sense of dread. He had spent the day waiting for her to reach out, to fix them. And she hadn't.

She got a hold of Meredith with a page, and they met for dinner in the cafeteria.

"So how was your day?" Meredith asked. "You worked with Owen today, right? Any good cases? Anything interesting? Did you guys…" she paused, as if searching for the right word, "…talk? About anything?"

Ignoring the weirdness across the table, Cristina popped a french fry into her mouth. "I need a house of candles," she announced.

Meredith stared at her blankly.

"A house of candles," Cristina said, sighing, as if Meredith were trying her patience. "A grand, romantic gesture. A relationship-saving kind of gesture." She paused. "Because Alex is right. Owen's going to leave me on my ass." Cristina paused, put another fry in her mouth, and said, "Got any ideas?"

Meredith frowned and shook her head. "To be honest, the house of candles was kind of a miracle. I didn't know I had it in me."

Cristina nodded, scowling. She had less than twenty-four hours to pull off her own kind of miracle.

**

He'd arrived at her apartment in a downpour uncharacteristicof Seattle, where the clouds rarely worked up much more than a depressing, constant drizzle. She opened the door wearing a sleeveless red dress, her hair down, dark curls dancing enticingly around her neck and shoulders. Her makeup was muted, a sheen of lip gloss, a touch of mascara.

"You look beautiful," he said, glad that he'd worn the suit. She'd already made him cancel the dinner reservations he'd made, saying that she had something planned for them. It was a nice change, she rarely planned their outings. He only became worried when she made him turn over the keys to his car.

They ate dinner at a small neighborhood Italian restaurant close to the U District. The restaurant's lights were dimmed to a romantic setting, and a candle rested in the center of each table. They served sliced bread with their homemade marinara sauce. Cristina ordered a bottle of red wine, and Owen waited for the server to leave before he asked, "Should you be drinking?"

She had been on the verge of taking a piece of bread, but stopped, hand in mid air, mouth slightly ajar. "Mark or Derek?" she demanded, shaking her head, clearly frustrated.

Owen looked down, spun worked his fingers around the base of his water glass, spinning it in a circle on its coaster. "I wish you would talk to me. I don't know what else I have to do, to get you to talk to me."

Cristina licked her lips, saddened by the way his blue eyes couldn't quite meet hers. She sighed, pushed herself to say something. "I'm not pregnant," she managed. He still didn't meet her gaze. "Maybe I wanted to be. That's what my OB thinks. She thinks I wanted to be pregnant, so I convinced myself I was."

Owen lifted his gaze and his chin. "Did you?"

She bit her lip, shook her head in the negative, then rolled her eyes and nodded. When she looked back at Owen he was smiling widely. "Those are some mixed signals you're sending," he said.

Cristina sniffed, wiped at her nose with her knuckle and said, "Your friends are couple of Talky McTalkalots."

He nodded. "Derek's under a lot of stress, I think he's hoping we'll sort whatever this is out before the wedding."

Cristina shrugged, and her hair slid up and down her nearly-bare shoulders. Owen swallowed and made an effort not to reach for her hand. "Me too," she said. It was the way she said it that made him worry.

Minutes ticked by. They ordered an appetizer, and dinner. They drank wine and talked haltingly about work. And through each and every minute he waited for her to say something, anything, about their relationship. And he started to worry that he'd made a mistake coming here tonight, had made a bigger mistake on Monday when he asked her to make a choice. She wasn't going to make the kind of choices he needed her to make voluntarily, and he wasn't going to push them on her. She'd been pushed before, and he wasn't going to be another man pushing her into something she didn't want. And she obviously didn't want this.

Their server came back to ask if they wanted desert, and Owen handed him his credit card and asked for the check. He could feel Cristina's eyes on him, watching him, as he scrawled his name on the bottom of the credit card receipt and pushed his chair back. He stood, slid his wallet into his suit pocket and looked down at her. "You ready?" he asked.

She nodded and he pulled her chair back. When she stood the smell of her hair wafted up to him, and he nearly broke. He wanted to tell her to take his car, that he'd get a cab, that he couldn't be so close to her for any longer if he couldn't have her. But instead he held her coat as she slid her arms in. He adjusted the collar and allowed his fingers to graze her neck, ever so slightly. She took a sharp little breath when his fingers touched her skin, and he was reminded that it had been awhile since he'd gone this long without holding her.

There had been the time, months back, when it had all been too much and she and Meredith had gotten in the car and toured three states, on some sort of grand search for baked goods. For days he got phone calls lamenting that no one knew how to make a decent muffin anymore, until they ended up in a trailer park by a freeway in Chehalis, almost back where they started. It had been a week and a half that time.

Cristina stilled, and Owen moved forward. He rested his forehead against the back of her head, breathed in the smell of her hair. The dark curls smelled like rose and something else. Honeysuckle--another white flower Meredith Grey would never have an opinion about.

He stepped away, not feeling good about where they were headed. It was becoming obvious she didn't see herself as a wife, or a mother. Didn't even see herself sharing her apartment or her life with him. And he wasn't going to push her. Her last relationship had been all about push and push-back, and maybe it the beginning Preston Burke had done what he needed to do. But if the ends are supposed to justify the means, they should be good ends. The last relationship had not ended well.

No, Owen decided, he had pushed enough. And he shouldn't have to push. He deserved someone who didn't need to be coerced into committing to him, and he steeled himself to the knowledge that his push on Monday had led them to the end. That this was the end.

The worry abated slightly when they got back into the car, and she turned to him and pulled a silk scarf out of her purse. He allowed himself to feel encouraged that she'd planned more than just a dinner for their date. Owen eyed her suspiciously as she held the scarf up to him, and with a sexy smile stated that she was going to blindfold him. Intrigued, he lowered his head without a word, and she wrapped a scarf around his head so he couldn't "peek" and ruin the "surprise".

She started the car and pulled away from the curb. Owen shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "You're not taking me somewhere to kill me are you?" he asked. He felt like a cow being led the slaughter, the only sounds around him the slightly depressing music on the stereo and the sound of the wiper blades working to power through the storm. The rain hadn't let up at all.

He forced himself to relax back into the seat, to let her lead the way. They drove for a good twenty minutes before the car slowed to a stop for the last time, and she parked. He was reaching up to slip of the scarf when her hands met his over the silk, and she stopped him. "Not yet," she said, then got out, running around the car to open his door and pull him out.

As they walked the rain pelted him, and it occurred he should have grabbed his overcoat out of the backseat, but he didn't want to delay the reveal any longer. They moved from the asphalt onto a sandy dirt path littered with puddles, and he thought absent-mindedly that he was in the process of ruining yet another suit.

They kept walking, obviously descending toward something, and he could hear the lake around them. Cristina's breathing was getting shallow, and the night was cold enough that he understood why. Rain bombarded them, plastering his hair to his forehead and raising goosebumps on his flesh. He held tight to Cristina's arm. He could feel her shivering against him as she led him forward, their feet sinking into the sandy path the last few steps until she finally stopped, and turned him so that he was facing away from her. She stood behind him and peeled the scarf off of his face, and he found himself facing a familiar lighthouse.

"What-" Owen started to ask, but Cristina moved around so that she was in front of him. Her coat wasn't buttoned, and the front of her dress had darkened as the fabric absorbed the rain. Her hair was wet and plastered to her face in places, and she looked stunning, but it was her expression that had him holding his breath. She was looking at him with such openness that he willed himself to keep his teeth from chattering so he wouldn't miss a word of what she was going to say.

"I brought you here because we were supposed to start here," She started, then paused, looking around. "I was kind of hoping for a clear night," She spoke loudly, competing with the weather, and gave a self depreciating smile as her voice trailed off.

Owen stepped forward, looking to get closer, and shield her from some of the wind and rain but she stepped back, stubbornly. It was dark, and cold, but she looked beautiful in her red dress and impractical shoes.

"I want us to start here, like you planned," she paused, but kept going when he opened his mouth to speak. "I like your plans." The wind had kicked up and she was almost shouting to be heard over it. "And I do want you to move in."

Owen drew his eyebrows together, not sure where she was going. "That's.. what?" he asked, confused.

She shook her head, annoyed. "I'm saying 'yes', here."

"But I never asked to move in," he pointed out, and it was hard not to make it sound harsh when he had to practically yell it at her.

She shrugged, shouted, "So? I'm asking you."

Owen crossed his arms over his chest, a slow smile growing on his face. "I didn't hear you ask anything."

Cristina laughed, and the sound rose like music on the wind as her hair whipped around her face. "Move in with me," she yelled, her face turning serious as she reached for his hands and held them in hers. "Move in with me."

He pulled her into his arms, shaking his head as a grin spread across his face. He lowered his mouth until it was hovering just above hers, and he searched her eyes, looking for a signs that she wasn't sure. Looking for worry, or fear. She gazed right back at him and smiled.

"Just say yes so we can leave, already," Cristina finally said, and glanced back nervously toward the car. "We're illegally parked."

Owen shook his head, then nodded, grinning. He closed his mouth over hers and kissed her, burying his hands in her wet hair as they fought for control of the kiss. He won, and when he broke the contact they were both out of breath. "Yes," he said against her mouth. "Yes."

She kissed him again, this one a soft brush of the lips. "Take me home."


	10. Chapter 10: A Wedding

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

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He made an effort not to stare at Cristina during the ceremony. It was difficult, especially that first look at her, as she walked down the aisle in her strapless dress. It caught his breath, seeing her in that dress, the color of gunmetal, the material clinging to her slight frame. It wasn't a billowy dress by any means, and he was sure the only reason she was able to walk was the slit in the back, allowing for movement. Lexie followed Cristina down the aisle, but where Cristina's dress was strapless; Lexie's had little capped sleeves. Otherwise, they were nearly identical. Owen could tell the way Mark drew in a sharp breath that he wasn't the only one that felt like he'd been punched in the gut to see them walk down the aisle, each carrying a bouquet of purple and white flowers. It didn't surprise him that Meredith had gotten her gardenias after all.

She cried during the ceremony. Meredith, that is, not Cristina. Lexie cried, too, but no one lost any wagers on that one. No one was shocked to see Mark and Derek wiping away tears, either. It was a short ceremony, but beautiful and well attended. Cristina tried her best not to look at him, but her glances were anything but sly. It may have been that it was her first time seeing him in a tux. It may have been something else entirely. During the vows, she stopped pretending not to look at him.

They chose traditional vows, and cried through them. Owen watched Cristina as Derek took Meredith to be his wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forward until death do they part. Cristina's eyes stayed on him as Meredith repeated the vows back. She continued to watch him as Meredith, hands shaking furiously, slid a gold band onto Derek's finger. When the band was on, Derek held both of Meredith's hands in his, and grinned at her. In the middle of it all, just before the kiss, Meredith burst out laughing. And Derek laughed. And they almost let the official announce the kiss, but some things are more important than waiting. They stole their kiss.

And when it was over, they walked together down the aisle, a full church at their backs. Mark was the best man, in the way that these things are done, and so Owen had to wait that much longer to touch her. To whisper to her. He took Lexie's arm and they followed behind Cristina and Mark, and he allowed himself to be driven crazy by the back of her neck. Her thick dark curls were pulled up into a low bun, revealing an expanse of skin from the base of her hairline to well below her shoulders.

In the lobby Derek picked Meredith up and swung her around, and they laughed some more. Mark turned and took Lexie off of his arm, and Owen moved in next to Cristina. He put a hand to her back, just needing to touch her. She smiled up at him, and everything was right.

There were post-ceremony shots of tequila, and pictures, and a caravan to the reception site, and during all of it Owen grinned like a fool, because he was moving in with Cristina tomorrow.

They danced at the reception, and they did it well. He already knew how to dance, but Meredith had asked the wedding party to take lessons, and though she billed it as a bonding experience for everyone it only took one group lesson before he started questioning whether the lessons were for the sole benefit of Lexie Grey, who had two left feet.

When it came time for them to dance, he nearly dragged her out onto the floor, he was so happy to have a reason to wrap his arms around her. She laughed and shook her head when he pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her as an unfamiliar version of 'My One and Only Love' filtered through the room.

"I've been waiting for this," he said into her hair, his eyes scanning the crowd. Addison Montgomery (leave it to Derek to beat the odds and have a friend in an ex-wife). Richard Webber had brought Adele. George had come, looking so much older, looking so much thinner, as if they didn't have a cafeteria at Mercy West. Dr. Wyatt. Callie Torres. Arizona Robbins. Alex Karev. Miranda Bailey. There had to be a skeleton staff on surgery tonight.

"Mmm," Cristina said, tilting her head slightly so that she was resting against him. "Me too. You look hot."

Owen chuckled. "I don't want to talk about how you look," he said. "I don't even want to think about how you look. I want to take you somewhere private and hike up that dress."

"I think people would notice if we left," she said, stepping closer to him.

Owen shrugged, "They'd notice more if I pressed you up against the wall and made love to you right here."

Cristina shook with silent laughter, moving her hands up around his neck, pulling her head back to look into his eyes.

"They'd really notice if I slid my hand inside your panties and made you--"

Cristina shushed him, but felt a rush of warmth throughout her body, and his breath hot on her ear. She didn't have to look at him to know he was grinning mischeviously.

"Just a few more hours and we can go home. To our home."

He kissed her lightly on the lips. "To our bed," he agreed.

"Or our walls," she teased.

"Maybe our shower," he suggested.

"No," Cristina shook her head, "the tux is a rental, they'll charge us extra if it comes back wet."

"Smart ass ," Owen laughed out loud, squeezing her to him. "Tell me you love me."

"Tell me you'll marry me," she countered, resting her head against his shoulder. Owen stilled, and held his breath. "Not now, and not like—"she paused, and motioned to the room, "not like this. Something small. Something just for us."

He didn't speak, couldn't speak. And he wondered absently how many post-ceremony shots of tequila she'd had, but she didn't sound drunk.

"And I don't know about babies, yet," she continued. "I don't know if I want that, Owen." She couldn't look at him. Couldn't stand to see the disappointment on his face. She wished she didn't have to hear his answer when she asked, "Would you still marry me if I don't know if I'll ever want that?" Because she knew without a doubt that she could marry him, and would. And she would be happy to marry this man, though if she could do it without some big production of a wedding she would be even happier.

"Of course I will. I already promised you forty years, didn't I?" He stopped himself from making a joke, telling her that technically, he could only guarantee thirty-nine now, because she'd used one already. But he didn't want to make light of what was happening, and so he just rested his chin on the top of her head and kept dancing.

She pulled away from him, worked at getting a look at his face, to see if he looked as upset as she expected him too. But he didn't. He didn't look upset at all. She took a breath, "But your list. You said-"

He shook his head. "It's you, Cristina. You're my list."

She searched his eyes as she nodded. And maybe she believed him, but most likely she didn't. Most likely she would need convincing. But they had time enough for that.

"Don't you have something to tell me?" he prompted, and she smiled.

"I love you."

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_A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. I know a lot of you were looking forward to this story continuing on about them living together, but that's just not this story (which actually turned into something more even than "a weekend"). This is not to say I won't write that story—just that I don't want to drag this story out (especially since technically could have ended with the last chapter, since this one is kind of pointless fluff). Anyway, thank you thank you thank you for your feedback, which is very much appreciated. _


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